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Price, 25 Cents. 



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JIM BLUDSO 



(9i^ r//^ PRAIRIE BELLE, 



AND 



LITTLE BREECHES. 



By JOHN HAY. 




BOSTON: 
JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 



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In f re^!S. 




CASTILIAX 


DAYS. 


By JOHN HAY. 


♦ 

James R. Osgood & Co., 


Publishers. 




I 'll hold her nozzle agin the bank. 



JIM BLUDSO 

OF THE PRAIRIE BELLE, 



AND 



LITTLE BREECHES. 



By JOHN HAY. 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY S. EVTJXGE, JR. 




BOSTON: 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 
1871. 



P•^ /^nn 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, 

BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
Cambridge. 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE. 

The illustrations which accompany this edition of these 
popular ballads have been made under the author's eye, 
and have received his approval. 



JIM BLUDSO, 



OF THE PRAIRIE BELLE. 



'X'XTAhh, no! I can't tell whar he lives, 

Becase he don't live, you see ; 
Leastways, he 's got out of the habit • 

Of livin' like you and me. 
Whar have }'ou been for the last three year 

That you have n't heard folks tell 
How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks 

The night of the Prairie Belle ? 




-/ 






I can't tell whar he lives. 



Ji7n Bhidso, 

He were n't no saint, — them engineers 

Is all pretty much alike, — 
One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill 

And another one here, in Pike ; 
A keerless man in his talk was Jim, 
^ And an awkward hand in a row, — - 
But he never flunked, and he never lied, - 

I reckon he never knowed how. 

And this was all the religion he had, — 

To treat his engine well ; 
Never be passed on the river ; 

To mind the pilot's bell ; 
And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, — 

A thousand times he swore 
He 'd hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last soul got ashore. 




HE weren't no saint. 




I NEVF.R ain't had no show. 



LITTLE BREECHES. 



T DON'T go much on religion, 

I never ain't had no show ; 
But I 've got a middhn' tight grip, sir, 

On the handful o' things I know. 
I don't pan out on the prophets 

And free-will, and that sort of thing, — 
But I b'lieve in God and the angels. 
Ever sence one night last spring. 
17 




I HEARD ONE LITTLE SQUALL, 



Little Breeches, 

I come into town with some turnips, 

And my little Gabe coipe along, — • 
No four-year-old in the county 

Could beat him for pretty and strong. 
Peart and chipper and sassy, 

Always ready to swear and fight, — 
And I 'd larnt him to chaw terbacker 

Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. 

The snow come down like a blanket 

As I passed by Taggart's store ; 
I went in for a jug of molasses 

And left the team at the door. 
They scared at something and started, — 

I heard one little squall,. 
And hell-to-split over the prairie 

Went team, Little Breeches and all. 
19 



I TEST FLOPPED DOWN ON MY MARROW-BONES. 



Little Breeches, 

Hell-to-split over the prairie ! 

I was almost froze with skeer ; 
But we rousted up some torches, 

And sarched for 'em far and near, 
At last we struck hosses and wagon, 

Snowed under a soft white mound, 
Upsot, dead beat, — but of little Gabe 

No hide nor hair was found. 

And here all hope soured on me. 

Of my fellow-critter's aid, — 
I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones, 

Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. 

By this, the torches was played out. 

And me and Isrul Parr 
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold 

That he said was somewhar than 

21 




AND THAR SOT LITTLE BREECHES AND CHIRPED. 



Little Breeches, 

We found it at last, and a little shed 

Where the}- shut up the lambs at night. 
We looked in and seen them huddled thar, 

So warm and sleepy and white ; 
And THAR sot Little Breeches and chirped, 

As peart as ever you see, 
" I want a chaw of terbacker, 

And that 's what 's the matter of me." 

How did he git thar } Angels. 

He could never have walked in that storm. 
They jest scooped down and toted him 

To whar it was safe and warm. 
And I think that saving a little child, 

And bringing him to his own, 
Is a derned sight better business 

Than loafing around The Throne. 
23 



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■^b^AA^ -'''^'"i«t*0*it**iii****ii**i*l>ii-^'^-^-^-"''-^-^-^'^'^ A^^^^^^^^_^ 



NEABLY READY. 



PIKR COUNTY BALLADS, 



AND 



OTHER FIECES- 

BY JOHN HAY. 



« ■^•^ > 



In this volume are gathered, under the headings of Pike County 
Ballads, Wanderlieder, and New and Old, the various poems 
hitherto printed by the author of JiiM Bludso, together with some 
others which are entirely new to the public. The poems contained in 
the first division are probably the best known, but those in the other 
parts of the volume are fully equal in merit, and though not cast in so 
popular a mould, yet show the touch of the same master-hand. 



Price, in Cloth, bevelled boards, $1.50. 



*jf* For sale by Booksellers, Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price, by the Pub- 
lishers, 

JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. 



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